


Developing Interests

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Chas and John [3]
Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Crying, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Exhaustion, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3269957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chas decides to take John a little further than he usually does. It's quite worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Developing Interests

John is absolutely _drenched_ in sweat, and even despite his usual stubborn insistence on appearing as unruffled as he can possible manage, his expression shows a slacked fatigue, intermingled with _frustration._ Oh, and he is ridiculously irritated now, because four times now Chas has put a hand between them and watched John _lurch_ in hopes of getting his cock stroked, but four times Chas has just squeezed about the base to stop him coming.

He's going to break soon.

Chas has only broken him once so far, a month or so ago, but he's going to break _again._

Chas is laid on his back, head against the pillows, and John is speared on his cock, hands tied behind his back with his own tie. His thighs are beginning to fatigue, as Chas knew they would, but John is so desperate to come he wouldn't stop fucking himself down if Beelzebub himself came in and told him to, and his cock bounces and swings with each push upwards and drop _down._

John lets out a noise, a sort of harsh, desperate keen, and he leans forwards to try and get _more._

“God, you _hate_ me, don't you, Chas?” He's been mostly non-verbal for the past ten minutes, having given up on his usual provocation of _Daddy_ and _Dad_ and _just touch my cock, you prick_ and _you're a cruel bastard, Chas_ , but this one is a new line. Chas almost smirks, simply because John getting vicious is John getting _needy_ ; he's so desperate for a response he's going to try and cut close to the truth.

John's not a man for subtlety, after all.

“What makes you say that, Johnny?” Chas asks, and his hands slide up the other's thighs with teasing fingers just barely stroking his skin, and John _convulses_ , letting out a ragged cry and closing his eyes as _tightly_ as he possibly can. He _loves_ being called Johnny, loves it in a way he'd never dare admit to if Chas asked.

“God, Chas, _Daddy,_  just _let me_.” There it is: he just has no strength of _will._ He doesn't want to continue poking and prodding, because he's too scared Chas will _confirm_ his inner fears and say yes, John, I fucking _hate_ you. Chas wouldn't ever say that, of course. Not even if it was true.

“I am letting you, Johnny-boy. Look at you, all naked, in my lap, on my _cock_. What more do you want?” John groans, thrusts himself down six times in quick succession, and then his head bows.

 _ **Yes**_ _._ Yes, Chas _has_ him now. He hears the heaving breaths first, two or three which are shallow, and then deep ones that _hitch_ in his throat. It takes a minute, and then Chas hears the first sob, and John must feel the way his cock twitches inside the mage's ass because he shivers and lets out a soft wail.

“Head up, John. Let me see.”

“ _Fuck off_ , Chas.” John snaps at him, and it comes thick for tears, and his head is still down and tilted hard to the side so he doesn't have to look at the _smirk_ on his best friend's face. “Just _fuck_ off.”

“Let me see, Johnny.” Chas murmurs, and his hands curl around his hips, _squeezing_ , pressing his thumbs neatly against the bone. “Let me see you cry like the desperate little slut you are.” John lets out a sort of grunt he stifles with his own pressed-together lips, and with that he looks at Chas.

He is a sight for sore eyes.

John's cheeks are burning red, and his eyes are slightly swollen and they're red too, and tears are clinging to his stubble as they roll down from his tear ducts. His teeth are gritted, and his expression says that he'd stab Chas for this right now if he had a knife to hand.

“That's a lad.” Chas says, and John's eyes close even if he is feeling rebellious and angry, because that little phrase affects him with a five second _bliss._ Chas could keep going. He could keep going until John cries and sobs and _begs_ to be permitted the orgasm he's been chasing for half an hour now, but Chas wouldn't do that to him.

Besides, there's only so much an extra thick condom can stave off, Chas' patience-wise.

He moves to sit up, and then he lifts John off his length with the ragdoll ease he always can, because the idiot mostly subsides on drink and cigarettes and doesn't eat enough no matter how much Chas badgers him and, much to Chas' surprise John _panics_.

“Wait, wait, Chas, Chas, no, no, I'm sorry, Daddy, _Daddy_ , please, let me let me- don't- don't-” _Jesus_ , Constantine looks like he's about to really burst into tears, and Chas hushes him, clutches at his body as he turns the man around and very carefully lays him on his belly.

“I'm gonna fuck you, John, Johnny, just moving you. S'alright.” John heaves in a desperate breath, but he relaxes slightly as Chas gives himself a perfunctory stroke and lines himself up to fuck into John properly now. Guilt pulls at his chest at having reduced John to being so _needy_ , to scared Chas would deny him completely, but underneath that there's a sort of primal _delight_ in having dominated John Constantine so thoroughly he cried when he thought Chas was going to stop fucking him.

Chas begins to drive into John, and when John comes it's with a heady _scream_ of sound that's muffled against the mattress; Chas comes knowing his prick can reduce John to sobs and begs, much as its _absence_ can. He undoes the other's neck tie where it squeezes around his wrists, and Chas steps up to tie off the rubber and throw it aside.

He looks back, and John is still lying there, on his belly with his forehead against the sheets, breathing heavily, slightly raggedly.

Chas moves forwards, and he grasps John at the shoulder and pulls him up, pulls John up and into his lap whether he's going to complain or not, and with that he puts his thumbs against the smaller man's wrists and begins to massage blood back into the whitened flesh there, as a consequence of the tie.

It takes a few moments, and then John _drops_ , puts his forehead against Chas' neck and presses his cheek to his shoulder like a dog's against its master's hand, as if he's eager for more. Again, there it is; guilt and obscene triumph all at once.

“Think w'should'ave a safeword.” The fricative is muffled against his Chas's skin, and before he knows it Chas is dragging his lips very carefully over John's forehead. It's tender, simple, and Chas has done it a dozen times before, but this time it turns John into a lax bag of tired muscles and loose bones, and he's almost _limp_ in Chas' lap.

“Yeah, John. I think so.” Chas agrees. He's not into BDSM, never has been like John has in the past, never went in for leather and whips and chains, but denying John for ages and tying his wrists has _definitely_ just got him off.

“S'called sub drop.” John says dimly, bluntly, because he's obviously embarrassed. The phrase is completely foreign to him. “Endorphin crash.” Ah. That one makes more sense. Chas pulls John back onto the bed, spoons himself against John's back and grabs at the sheet they'd thrown on the floor, and he holds him tightly even when John makes to move away slightly.

Chas should probably look into the whole thing, given how it gets _John_ off; for the time being he's content enough with the fact that he's just taken John to pieces, and that if he weren't so tired Constantine would still be begging for more.

He thinks of the way Constantine had gasped and panicked and shook in his hands at the thought of not being able to come at all, and his cock gives an interested _twitch_ despite being spent for the time being. John mumbles something about keeping his wood to himself when his arse hurts this much.

Chas chuckles, and he presses three kisses to the back of his shoulder, patting John's hip and thumbing over the skin. “You're a slut, John.”

“M'a sore slut. Leave my arse alone.” Chas closes his eyes, listens to the way John breathes, until he drifts off to sleep against Chas' chest. The whole BDSM thing may not really be to his interest, but Chas still dreams of putting a band of leather around John's neck and dragging him by its loop.

 


End file.
